Sorting Through Life

St. Michael’s Lane—

I’m six…

And three quarters, blowing bubbles in an inflatable wading pool, splashing

My reflection as the sun paints it onto the water.

I’m in my first bikini

Between the dogwood and the mailbox,

Licking Fun Dip from a sugar stick.

I cross Easthaven Drive.

The cash in my fist, crisp,

Like the night air.

I run inside to count it.

In the dark room, alone, I hold the first

Fifteen dollars I ever earned.

I look out the window at the world,

Then climb into my wallside bed.

I tell him to make a right onto Woody Grove Lane and

It’s the last one on the left.

Headlights scream through the quiet windows

And I climb out of mine, hike up the darkened green hill, jump

Into the passenger seat of a life-sized version

Of my brother’s favorite matchbox car and

Roll away slowly

From the cul-de-sac.

I sit, sweat shining in the heat

On Peachtree Avenue,

The lemonade sky squeezes

It’s sour light onto my pale legs

As I sort through

Bills, junk mail, magazines, letters:

Life.